


The Entire Time

by luxover



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:30:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxover/pseuds/luxover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo gets detention on a Friday. Written for the prompt: high school au where messi's a long-haired stoner/outcast/whatever, and based on his old, long hair. Which I miss dearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Entire Time

**Author's Note:**

> A HS!AU written for the  prompt: _high school au where messi's a long-haired stoner/outcast/whatever._ inspired vaguely [by](http://i377.photobucket.com/albums/oo213/luxover/lg_Messi-Aguero.jpg) [these](http://i377.photobucket.com/albums/oo213/luxover/2008100382MessiAgero_d.jpg) [photos.](http://i377.photobucket.com/albums/oo213/luxover/T1_0822_messi.jpg)

Leo gets detention on a Friday.

“Fucking sucks, man,” Kun says, his head halfway inside his locker. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“Yeah, I did,” Leo says. “I did nothing but draw all class.” He halfheartedly waves his sketchbook in front of himself as if to prove a point, and the gesture knocks free a couple of sheets of loose-leaf drawing paper from between the covers.

“No one pays attention, though,” Kun argues. When he turns to look at Leo, he’s got a pencil tucked behind his ear, and Leo’s pretty sure it’s the 5B drawing pencil that’s been missing from his set. “I mean, I don’t even know what we talked about.”

“Giannina strikes again?” Leo asks, and only just manages to hold back a laugh.

“Hey, man,” Kun says. “She’s smart, she likes football, and her tits…” He holds his hands out, a foot away from his own chest. Leo brushes his hair out of his face and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I’ve got to get to detention, but we’re still on for tonight?”

“Definitely,” Kun says. “Silva’s got a dime bag for me, too, so that’s perfect timing.”

And Leo doesn’t know anything about Silva other than that they have chemistry together, but he thinks Silva’s pretty alright, considering that he’s the one giving them the pot for tonight.

Yeah, Silva’s alright.

 

When Leo gets to the detention hall, no one’s there but Cesc. He grew up next door to Leo and so Leo knows him pretty well, although they’re not best friends or anything; Cesc is a freshman, is two years younger than Leo, and so they always ran different circles. Cesc is in the drama club and does set design, and he’s always walking around after class with a nail guns and saws. To be honest, Leo’s surprised that no one’s gotten hurt yet.

“What’re you here for?” Cesc asks, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his knuckles.

“Drawing in class,” Leo says, sitting down in the desk behind to him. He opens his sketchbook and roots around in his bag for a pencil. Detention, he figures, stopped being effective when it stopped being a punishment.

“I skipped,” Cesc says. “Gerard and I went to get churros instead of going to biology.”

“Can’t blame you,” Leo says. Only, Gerard’s not there, so, “He didn’t get caught?”

“He did,” Cesc says. “I just don’t think he’s coming.”

Leo thinks that’s pretty ballsy.

They don’t have much else to say after that, so Leo starts drawing, smudging lines with his fingertips and blowing eraser dust off his paper. A couple of other people walk in, but Leo doesn’t pay any attention to them until—

“Silva, it’s fucking bullshit,” someone says just outside the door. Leo looks up and sees the Davids talking—Silva and Villa. Leo doesn’t know a thing about Villa either, just knows that he’s loud and owns a pair of leopard-print shoes.

“Hey,” Silva says. “At least you won the fight, right?”

“No,” Villa snaps. “Go fuck yourself.” It doesn’t sound like he’s joking around to Leo, but Silva laughs.

“Too busy,” he says, and he turns to walk away. “Besides, I have to go meet Agüero.”

Villa walks in the door after that and Leo ducks his head, focuses back on his drawing so he doesn’t look like he was eaves dropping. He’s been working on figure drawings in art class—something that he takes seriously, even though most people just use the time to dick around—and so his sketchbook is filled with hands and noses and feet from all different angles.

Villa picks the desk next to him, throws himself down onto the chair.

“Fuck,” he says to himself. Leo notices that his lip is split as Villa looks over at him. “Your drawing looks like shit,” Villa says.

“Thanks,” Leo says. He doesn’t care what Villa thinks.

Villa just laughs, throws his head back and everything.

 

The best thing about hanging with Kun, Leo thinks, is how comfortable it is. He’s known Kun for ages, since before they could walk, and so Leo never feels like he needs to play host, never feels like he needs to say certain things or act in a certain way. Leo likes that because he’s not all that out-going; he doesn’t like going to parties much, likes drawing and smoking pot and watching movies instead.

“Get me a soda,” Kun says as he takes a toke on the joint between his fingers. He’s in Leo’s basement lying on the couch, and Leo’s sitting on the floor in front of him, his sketchbook open on his knees.

“Get it yourself,” Leo says. “You know where the fridge is.” He’s hunched over and his hair is in his eyes, in his face, blocking everything from view except for his sketchbook. There are tons of pencils scattered about, a couple of pens, and a few feet away, there’s a spilled jar of dirty paint water and a half-finished canvas in the corner.

Kun pushes the side of Leo’s face with his socked foot and then holds the joint out to him. It’s down to the last dregs.

“Thanks,” Leo says. He takes it with clumsy fingers and then switches it to the other hand so he can draw and smoke at the same time. Next to him, Kun sits up and starts to roll a second joint with what’s left from the dime bag.

“I’ve gotta ask Silva where he gets his stuff from,” Kun says. “He’s always got good shit. You wouldn’t expect it from him, you know?”

“No,” Leo says, but Kun ignores him. He’s busy licking and sealing the rolling paper.

“I thought about getting hair like his,” Kun continues. “But dudes always look weird with long hair.”

Leo looks up from his sketchbook in time to see Kun flick open the lighter.

“Thanks,” Leo says. “You’re a great person.” He says it in the way that really implies, _I have long hair, you dick,_ but Leo never actually says those kinds of things. It’s okay; Kun gets it anyways.

“Not yours,” he says. He takes a drag and the joint looks really nice, hundreds of times better than the first joint he ever rolled, which was too loose, burnt too fast, and set Leo jeans on fire. “Your hair is great; I can tell you put a lot of effort into it this morning.”

Leo laughs loudly and then tucks some of his hair behind his ears; it doesn’t stay—never does—and falls back in his face.

Kun sometimes gets like this when he’s high, talks nonstop like a one-man show. Leo thinks it’s funny as hell, some of the things that he says.

“The world ran out of gel after you did yours,” Leo says. His fingers are stained grey from pencil lead and charcoal dust. “I was going to do something to mine, but I really didn’t have the chance.”

“Very funny,” Kun says, and Leo’s not paying him much attention, but he can feel the couch move as Kun flings his body back down. He reaches forward and moves some of Leo’s hair to the side, looks at what Leo’s drawing, and when he speaks, Leo can feel his breath hot on the side of his neck. “Since when do you know Villa?”

“What?” Leo asks, and Kun’s face is right there, inches away from Leo’s. Leo could count Kun’s freckles like that, if he wanted. He doesn’t, though, because Kun holds out the joint and Leo takes a hit with it still in between Kun’s fingers.

“David Villa,” Kun says, pointing to Leo’s drawing of him. “You know him?”

“Oh,” Leo says. “No. He was just in detention with me today.”

“You’d like him,” Kun says, and he tugs on a strand of Leo’s hair. “He wears too much cologne and gets into a lot of fights.”

Leo wants to asks, _Fights over what?_ and, _How do you know him?_ but he doesn’t have the time to. Kun takes a deep drag from the newer joint and then leans forward, kisses Leo with an open mouth. It catches Leo off guard for a minute, but then Kun’s exhaling into Leo’s mouth and Leo knows this one, is familiar with it from all the other times they’ve done it. Leo inhales, his chest feeling tight and his head feeling light, and it’s only when Kun pulls back that Leo lets it out.

“You know,” Leo says, “ninety-five percent of the THC absorbed by your body is absorbed in the first two to three seconds of a hit.”

Kun leans back on the couch, one arm behind his head. Leo’s eyes follow the line of his neck and the pattern of shadows cast across his skin by the lamp a few feet away.

“You’re such a fucking stoner,” Kun says.

“I just like to be educated on what I’m doing,” Leo says. He turns the page in his sketchbook and starts a new drawing, one of Kun lying on the couch, a joint between his fingers, his eyes closed.

 

The weekend goes by too fast; it always does, and Leo’s always unprepared for it, scrambling to do his homework at the last minute.

“I’d let you copy mine,” Kun says, “but can you imagine this face in detention? I wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

Leo knows this means that he didn’t do it; he never does it, not until lunch, because chemistry is his last class of the day. Leo has it first thing in the morning, and that’s pretty rough. It always leads to him sitting on the hallway floor, his back to the lockers, trying to remember what _titration_ means before the bell rings.

When he gets to class, it’s still half empty. Leo grabs a seat in the middle like always, because that way no one ever sits next to him. People tend to the extremes when it comes to desks, Leo’s noticed; they either sit way in the front or way in the back.

He’s got five minutes until class officially starts and so he pulls out his sketch book, roots around in his bag for a pencil. He can’t find his HB—curses Kun, because he probably stole it—so he settles for a ballpoint pen, decides to do some quick ink drawings. He holds his left hand out, contorts it to the point that it’ll be difficult to draw, and then puts pen to paper with his right hand.

Leo’s working on building up the basic gesture drawing when someone sits next to him. He looks up and notices that it’s Silva, and that’s strange because Silva usually sits up front.

“That’s really good,” Silva says, looking at Leo’s half-finished sketch. He sounds completely different from how he sounded with Villa outside the detention hall, more soft-spoken, more reserved. He sounds honest, too, like he really means what he says.

“Thanks,” Leo says, and smiles. More people keep filing into the room.

“I’ve always wanted to draw, but,” Silva shrugs, “never had the talent for it.”

“I didn’t either,” Leo says. “Not at first. It’s not really a talent, just takes practice and patience.”

“Can I see what else you’ve done?” he asks, and Leo thinks on it for a second before sliding his sketchbook over.

Silva goes through a couple of pages and he doesn’t say anything, but he takes his time before flipping from one page to the next, and he only touches the edges and corners of the paper so he doesn’t smudge anything. Leo likes that he’s so careful even though everything’s smudged to an extent, especially the ones that he didn’t spray with a fixative.

When Silva gets to the picture of Kun, he laughs out loud and says, “Agüero! Oh man, that’s really good. Doing nothing and smoking pot, that’s so him.” He flips back a couple more pages and pauses a little longer when he gets to the picture of Villa with a busted lip, sleeping in detention. He doesn’t mention it, keeps going.

When the teacher stands up to start class, Silva slides Leo back his sketchbook. He says, “Thanks,” and smiles at him, bright and with all his teeth. It makes Leo want to be his friend.

For the rest of class, Leo draws and half-heartedly takes notes on a piece of lined paper that he found crumpled up at the bottom of his bag. He sketches out Silva, his three-quarter profile with his cheek resting on the heel of his palm, his elbow on the desk. Silva notices but he doesn’t move, just watches Leo’s pen out of the corner of his eye.

“Be careful,” Silva whispers, a small smile on his face. “You can’t erase it; that’s a lot of pressure.”

“Somehow, I’ll manage,” Leo whispers back. He tucks his hair behind his ear.

“I don’t get it,” Silva says, and for a second Leo thinks, _Get what?_ “What did you say to Villa?”

Leo didn’t say anything to Villa; they sat next to each other for an hour, and Villa slept the whole time.

“What do you mean?” Leo says, and it’s a bit too loud. The teacher shoots them a look and Leo lowers his voice. “I didn’t say anything to him.”

“He keeps talking like you did,” Silva says. He’s looking at Leo funny and all Leo can think of is Kun saying, _He gets into a lot of fights._ Leo doesn’t want to get into any fights.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t say anything,” Leo says. “He said my drawings looked like shit and I thanked him, and that was it.”

Silva looks at him for a minute. “Oh,” he says.

The bell rings and Leo turns his sketchbook around so Silva can see the whole thing.

“Man, that’s really cool,” he says. “It looks just like me.”

Leo carefully rips it out of his sketchbook and holds it out to him saying, “Here, you can have it.”

“Really?” Silva asks. He takes it from Leo and tucks it in between the pages of his notebook so that it won’t get crushed in his bag. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Leo says. “See you around.” He shoulders his bag and heads out the door, his hair falling around his face with the sudden movement.

Class was a lot more bearable this morning. He wonders where Kun is.

 

Leo doesn’t find Kun until they’re getting ready to walk home. There’s a bus that they can take, but they never do because it’s cramped and they’re the last stop.

“Sorry I missed lunch,” Kun says, “but I was busy making out with Giannina behind the school.”

“That’s alright,” Leo says. “I sat with Bojan, anyways.” He doesn’t make fun of Kun, doesn’t make any jokes because Kun is smiling so wide and Leo likes how he looks like that.

“Oh, good,” Kun says. “I felt real bad about it.”

“No you didn’t,” Leo says, but then again, he probably wouldn’t feel too bad about it, either, if he was fooling around with someone behind the school. He tilts his head to shoot Kun a look.

“Afterwards, I did!” Kun’s eyebrows are raised so high they’re practically at his hairline, and he’s holding his hands out in front of him, palms out.

“Alright, alright,” Leo says. “I’ll believe you this time.”

“You’ll believe me every time.”

Leo doesn’t answer that because it doesn’t deserve a response. Instead they just walk in silence for a bit, the sun beating down on their shoulders. It’s making Leo sweat. There are a couple of pebbles on the sidewalk and he kicks one with the toe of his shoe, keeps kicking it every time he catches up to it.

“I think you missed your true calling,” Kun says. “Lionel Messi: football star.”

Leo laughs, says, “Are you kidding me? I get high every weekend and I’m about four feet tall.”

“Oh, come on,” Kun says. “You’re at least four and a half.”

Leo says, “You’re very generous,” and rolls his eyes.

 

The next morning, Leo wakes up late; he stays up well past two painting, working on a new canvas that his parents bought him last year and that he only just recently unearthed from underneath his bed, and he wakes up on top of an open tube of maroon oil paint.

He gets dressed in record time, throws on whatever shirt he can find hanging in his closet—plain black—and a pair of jeans that picks up off the floor and that smells clean. He screams goodbye to his mother, grabs a banana for breakfast and heads out the door, eating as he sprints to school, praying that he doesn’t get there late. He’s been late twice that month already, and a third tardy means another detention.

Leo hears the bell ring as he’s crossing the parking lot.

“Fuck,” he says to himself, and then slows down; he’s already late, anyways, might as well stop killing himself over it.

When he finally walks into the classroom, his teacher says, “Mr. Messi.”

Leo says, “I know, I know,” and heads back towards his seat. He’s surprised to see Silva sitting in the desk next to his, where he had sat the day before. Leo had assumed it was a one-off.

“Hey,” he says quietly as he sits down. Silva has giant smile on his face, and it makes Leo’s stomach flop.

“For a second, I thought you weren’t coming,” he says.

“I overslept,” Leo whispers back. Silva smiles again, bites his lip.

“I can tell,” he says. “You’ve got paint on you and your hair’s all over the place.”

And that—well. That explains the smile: Leo looks like an idiot. He groans, thunks his head down on his desk.

Silva knocks shoulders with him and says lightly, “Aw, get over it. It’s not that bad.”

Leo mumbles, “Because you asked so nicely.” Silva laughs, and Leo thinks he could easily fall back to sleep, right there, like that.

Their teacher stops talking shortly after that, has them pair up and work on a lab. Leo hates labs because he usually ends up doing them by himself, but with Silva there, it’s different.

“If you want to get the first half of the supplies, I’ll get the second,” Leo offers.

“Alright,” Silva says, and the rest of it is just as easy, a give-and-take where they split things up and work together.

“Hand me the beaker?” Leo asks. “The smaller one. We need to take the, um.” He shakes his head, looks for the right words. “Sorry, I’m still half asleep.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Silva says, cutting magnesium strips, “Villa has detention today, too.”

“Who’d he beat up this time?” Leo asks, and then immediately wants to take it back; he doesn’t know Villa, barely knows Silva, and so he shouldn’t be saying things like that. Luckily, Silva laughs again.

“No one,” he says. “But he texted me earlier this morning. He woke up late, same as you.”

“Oh,” Leo brushes hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” Silva says, and that saves Leo from trying to find something else to say. “Actually, hey—are you busy Friday night? Want to come hang out with me and Villa?”

And Leo does, he really does because Silva seems really nice, but, “Um, Kun and I were going to—”

Silva waves and smiles easily. That’s something he does a lot, Leo notices; Silva smiles a lot.

“Kun can come too,” he says, grabbing a micro pipette.

“Oh,” Leo says. “Yeah. Then—yeah. That’d be cool.”

 

Kun sits with him at lunch.

“What, no Giannina?” Leo asks, and Kun pulls a face that says, _Very funny._

“ _No,_ ” he says. “But I’m going to her house after school.” He reaches out, steals one of Leo’s chips, and Leo doesn’t bother stopping him. He’s not that hungry, anyways.

“Going that well, huh?” Leo asks, and he doesn’t mean anything by it, but Kun still blushes and punches him in the arm.

“Shut up,” he says. “I really like her.” It’s so different from how he was just a few days ago, when he was talking about how big her chest was, that Leo wants to ask what happened. He doesn’t.

“Alright,” he says, changing the topic. “Do you want to go hang at Silva’s Friday?”

Kun looks surprised. “Since when do you know Silva?” he asks.

“Since a few days ago. I don’t know, he just sat with me in chemistry.” Kun steals more of his chips and Leo pushes the entire bag towards him.

“Okay,” he says. “Why not? Silva’s always got the best shit, I told you.”

“Yeah.”

“Where were you this morning, anyways?” Kun asks. He leans forward to see what else Leo brought to eat.

“Overslept,” Leo says. “Third time this month.”

“Bummer,” Kun says.

“Tell me about it,” Leo says. He leans down to go through his bag, comes back with his sketchbook. “Make a face that you can hold for a minute and a half.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Kun asks. “I’ll look like an idiot.”

Leo’s half tempted to say, _You already do,_ but instead he says, “I’m depressed over this detention situation. Come on.”

Kun sighs and makes sure that Leo knows he really doesn’t want to be doing this. Then he pulls one eyebrow down really low, opens his mouth and sticks his bottom lip out as far as he can. Leo’s pencil flies across the paper.

 

Detention comes sooner than Leo would like. He heads to the classroom where it’s being held, and he’s the first one there. He sits down somewhere near the middle and takes out his sketchbook again, starts to fill out the simple gesture drawings that he did of Kun at lunch.

He hears voices in the hall again, same as the last time he had detention, and this time he knows enough to know that it’s Villa and Silva.

“Fucking _please,_ ” Villa says. “No way I’m doing that.”

“Why not?” Silva asks. “You want to.” He sounds different again, different around Villa—not pushy, but not as easy going as he is around Leo, either. More assertive, maybe. Leo can’t put a name to it.

“Because it could be fucking embarrassing,” Villa says. There’s silence and then, “Fuck you, no.”

They round the corner and Leo can see them through the doorway. They’re so different from one another—the way they hold themselves, the way they act and the way they speak—that Leo can hardly believe that they’re friends.

“Leo, hey,” Silva says when he sees him, and he turns to Villa, nudges him. “This is Leo; I was telling you about him.”

“We’ve already met,” Villa says.

“Okay, well. Alright,” Silva says. “I guess I’ll let you guys get to being detained. And think on it, Villa, alright?”

“Fucking _fine,_ Jesus,” Villa says, and he doesn’t look to happy to be saying it.

When Silva leaves and it’s just the two of them, waiting for the teacher, Leo doesn’t know what to say. So he does what he does best and doesn’t say anything, just goes back to drawing.

“Silva says you did one of me,” Villa says. “Let’s see it.”

“Why?” Leo asks. He doesn’t bother looking up. “I thought my drawings were shit.”

And that—he can’t believe that even came out of his mouth. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him recently; he’s not usually like this.

Villa just laughs, like he did last time Leo talked to him. It’s weird, the way his smile changes his face. It makes him look softer, less harsh.

“Don’t be a smartass,” he says. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re good.”

Leo doesn’t respond, just slides his book over when he’s got it open to the right page. Villa laughs again when he sees it.

“You little fucker,” he says. “I was sleeping! That’s pretty invasive. I feel violated now.”

“You’ll get over it,” Leo says, and he goes back to drawing Kun.

They sit there in silence for a while and the teacher assigned to supervise them comes in, checks that they’re actually there, and then leaves. Villa thinks that’s bullshit, tells Leo as much.

“When I lived in Asturias,” he says, “I used to skip class all the fucking time to play _Mus,_ and the detentions I got from that were, fucking, like prison or some shit. A few of those and then I never cut class again.”

“Maybe you should take over detention supervision, then,” Leo says.

“Nah,” Villa says, “I’ll just let you Catalans struggle.”

At first, Leo plans on letting it go, but then he says, “I’m Argentinean.”

“Really?” Villa says. “Go fucking figure.”

“Yeah,” Leo says. Then, “Make a face that you can hold for a minute and a half.”

Villa looks at him like he’s an idiot and like he’s asking the wrong person. His eyebrows knit together and his top lip pulls up, and he looks right at Leo.

“Oh, come on,” Leo says. “A minute and a half won’t kill you.”

Villa’s face relaxes and he says, “You said pull a face and I pulled a fucking face!”

“Oh. Oh,” Leo says. “That was you— _oh._ Sorry, sorry. Do it again?”

Villa does.

They pass the rest of detention like that, Leo drawing Villa while they play tic-tac-toe, hangman, dots. When the hour’s up, Villa offers Leo a ride home.

“Sure,” Leo says. “Thanks.”

Villa’s car turns out to be a beat-up silver four-door that’s falling apart, ancient except for the top-of-the-line stereo. When Villa turns the car on, he immediately lowers the volume of the music; it’s not something Leo recognizes.

“You’re coming to Silva’s this weekend, right?” he asks, one arm behind Leo’s seat as he backs out of his parking space.

“Yeah,” Leo says. “Yeah, me and Kun.”

“Good. Silva talks about you a lot.”

And what is there to say to that? Leo doesn’t know what to say; anything he says to that is going to be awkward. So Leo ignores it, says something else.

“Have you two known each other for a long time?” he asks.

“Not really,” Villa says. “A few years.” Leo notices that he chews on his bottom lip as gauges traffic, waiting to make a left turn. He’s a better driver than Leo would have expected; safe, cautious. Leo points him towards his house.

“What’d you get in a fight for last detention?” he asks. He’s curious.

“What is this, the Argentinean Inquisition?” Villa asks, pulling down Leo’s street. He doesn’t give Leo time to take his question back, just goes on to say, “Someone said some shit about Silva, and I wasn’t just going to sit by. You know?”

Leo thinks about Kun, about how Kun’s his brother in every way except blood, and he thinks he gets it.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

 

After school on Friday, before they head to Silva’s, Kun and Leo play videogames in the basement. They play first person shooters, which are Leo’s favorite, and Mario Kart, which is Kun’s favorite, and even Mario Party 4, which they both agree is vastly inferior to Mario Party 1, but exponentially better than Mario Party 8.

“Remember that time you cried playing Golden Axe?” Kun asks.

“Yeah,” Leo says, and he laughs. “But come on, I was six.”

“Doesn’t matter—fuck,” Kun says, and on screen, his go kart skids on a banana and loses a balloon. “You still cried over a video game.”

“When _you_ were six,” Leo says, “you cried because I was going on vacation for a week.”

“And what does that say about our friendship that you didn’t?” Kun asks.

“I was going to Ibiza!” Leo cries, and Kun fires a red shell at him. “Ah, shit.”

“Language, Lionel,” Kun scolds. He elbows Leo just to be annoying, but the movement causes him to lose control of his kart and he falls off the Big Donut and into the lava. “Well,” he says. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Are you going to cry over it?” Leo asks.

“No,” Kun says. “Besides, we have to head out.” He reaches forward to shut off the game console.

“You’re just saying that because you only have one balloon left,” Leo accuses. He likes to win.

“No, Leo, I’m saying that because to be early is to be on time. It’s only polite.”

Leo shakes his head, says, “You’re so full of it,” but follows Kun out the door anyways.

 

Silva’s house is set up just like Leo’s, with the basement and the bedroom in the back and everything, and to Leo’s surprise, it’s not all that far from his, either. Silva’s mom answers the door with Silva only a few feet behind, and she’s nice, really nice. She makes them take _galletas, Kas,_ and _Mirinda_ with them downstairs, and she looks like she’s going to offer them more, but Silva says, “Mom, come on.”

There’s a couch and two chairs in the basement, along with a pool table and a tv; Leo thinks it’s pretty nice. Villa’s already there, slouched in the corner of the couch with his knees splayed wide. His hands are shoved in his pockets and Leo belatedly realizes that he’s sleeping.

Silva walks up behind him, threads his fingers through Villa’s hair and tugs.

“Hey,” he says. “They’re here.”

Leo waves, says, “Hi.”

“Oh,” Villa says. He sits up, rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Shit, I fell asleep.”

“Yeah,” Silva says, and he laughs.

Kun flops himself down on one of the open chairs and says, “And we come with food.”

“My mom made _montecados,_ ” Silva adds.

“Fuck, I love those,” Villa says.

“I know,” Silva says, and he sits down on the couch next to him, leaving the other chair open for Leo. Leo sits down, brushes his hair out of his face, and he can’t help but notice how close Villa and Silva are sitting to one another, how they slouch against one another so comfortably.

“Agüero,” Villa says, “make yourself useful and pick out a movie.” He nods his head towards a stack of dvds in the corner and Kun goes to looks at them, sorts through the different titles and sets aside the ones that might work.

Leo feels like he should say something, so he says, “Thank God it’s the weekend.” He rests his head back on the chair and looks at them through half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck me, seriously,” Villa says, and Silva knocks their knees together.

“That’s because you two idiots had detention,” Silva says.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Leo says.

Villa shakes his head, says, “But—”

“Yeah,” Kun hollers, cutting Villa off. “He came out of it in a better mood than he went into it.”

Leo fights the blush that he knows is creeping up on his cheeks, but he’s not entirely sure he’s successful. There’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about, either, so he doesn’t know why he’s blushing. He talked with Villa the whole time; of course it was better than just sitting there.

“Fuck you,” Villa says to Kun. “So did I. It sucks, thinking you’ve got to sit and do nothing for an hour.”

“Fuck _you,_ ” Kun says, and then he holds out a dvd and smiles. “Scarface.”

“Alright,” Silva says. Then, he turns to Villa, asks, “You buy more rolling paper?”

“You fucking asked me to, didn’t you?” Villa asks, and he reaches to the floor beside the armrest of the couch, grabs a bag that Leo hadn’t even seen. He dumps it out on the coffee table; it’s filled with nothing but a new pack of rolling paper and a couple of dime bags, and he starts opening them, gets ready to roll a joint.

“No bong?” Leo asks. He’d have brought his, if he thought.

“Nah,” Villa says. “I like this shit better.”

Kun flops back in his chair, the movie playing on the screen. None of them particularly pay attention to it, and Leo assumes it’s mostly just for background noise. Kun smiles at him and Leo smiles back.

“Fuck you, no I’m not,” Villa says. Leo doesn’t know what he’s talking about; for some reason, he zoned out and missed that part of the conversation.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Silva says, and he waves his hand like it doesn’t matter. “Villa’s just terrible at rolling.”

“Fuck you,” Villa says again. “I’m not.”

“Leo’s great at that,” Kun says. “Always tight, but not so tight you bust a lung.”

“Yeah?” Silva asks. He hits his knee against Villa’s again, says, “Let Leo roll it.”

Villa rolls his eyes, says, “I’m fucking good at it and you know it,” but he slides the stuff across the table towards Leo, anyways.

Leo takes the pot and goes through it, just double checking that there’s no lumps or woody bits in it. He lays the mix along the paper and puts in the roach, and then he picks the entire thing up, starts rolling from the center outwards. Silva jokes, “Look at that technique!” and Kun says, “Hey, pass me a _montecado._ ” Villa throws one at him and Leo keeps rolling, licks the paper to wet and seal it.

He looks up; Silva’s watching him even though Villa and Kun are tossing cookie pieces in the air and trying to catch them in their mouth. When he notices Leo’s looking back at him, he smiles.

“Impressive,” Silva says, and Leo laughs.

“I have a lot of practice.”

“I can tell,” Silva says. He takes the joint from between Leo’s fingers and lights up.

 

They smoke for a while after that; Leo makes them a few more joints and they demolish the plate of _montecados_ and about half of the sodas. Every once in a while they stop to quote Scarface, even though they aren’t watching it.

“I always tell the truth, even when I lie,” Silva says. He takes a hit off the joint before passing it to Villa. When he exhales, he tilts his head back and Leo’s eyes follow the line of his throat.

“Say hello to my little friend,” Villa quotes when he passes the joint to Kun, and Leo waves his hands wide.

He says, “You can’t quote that! Come on, that’s the most quoted line in the movie.”

“Fuck you,” Villa says, and he flicks Leo off.

Leo says, “You know what? Fuck you! How about that?” It’s another movie quote and Villa laughs loud, points at Leo. His eyes crinkle at the corners. Leo likes that, wants to see if he can smooth them out with the pads of his thumb, wants to know if they’re always there when he smiles.

But that was hours ago and the credits are running now. Leo’s entire body feels warm, feels nice. Kun is on the floor, leaning back against the front of Leo’s chair, against Leo’s knees. Leo rakes his fingers through Kun’s hair even though Kun’s asleep, and has been asleep for the past forty minutes.

“I’ll be right back,” Villa says. He shoots Silva a look, although Leo’s not entirely positive if he actually saw it or just imagined it.

He and Silva sit in silence for a minute, and Leo doesn’t feel any pressure to say anything. He likes Silva’s hair, he’s decided. He likes how it covers his forehead, brushes the tops of his eyebrows. His own hair is just long, long and ratty and he doesn’t do anything to it, just brushes it occasionally. He wonders if Silva’s hair is as soft as Kun’s; it looks it.

“How long have you guys been together?” Silva asks. It takes Leo a minute for his brain to catch up, to understand the question.

“Who—me and Kun?” he asks. “We’re not. He’s seeing Giannina Maradonna, kind of.”

“Oh,” Silva says. He slouches farther in his seat. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Leo says. It’s honestly nothing to be sorry about. Kun’s his best friend, his brother, and people miss-interpret that, sometimes.

“Hey,” Silva says, and then he pauses. Leo doesn’t rush him, just lets him think, because he knows that’s what he likes. “Can I show you something?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, off to the bedroom in the back.

“Yeah,” Leo says. “Sure.”

He follows Silva back to his room and Leo looks around. The walls are covered with music and football posters, and there are books everywhere—textbooks, novels, copies of _Cinco Días_ and _El Tiempo._ Villa’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his arms behind him, propping him up. His knees are splayed wide.

“Hey,” Leo says. He’s kind of confused as to what’s going on. Villa ignores him.

“Come on Silva,” Villa says, and it sounds like he’s making fun of Silva, although Leo doesn’t understand why. “You said you’d do it first.”

Leo’s about to leave because he doesn’t know what the hell is going on and the pot has him kind of on edge, but then Silva reaches forward and loops the fingers of one hand through Leo’s belt loops and pulls him forward. He smiles as he does it and so Leo doesn’t jerk away, and then Silva kisses him open-mouthed and Leo just—his brain is moving slowly and he doesn’t understand what’s going on, why Silva’s kissing him, of all people, but Silva’s a good kisser, knows exactly what Leo wants, and so Leo can’t help but kiss back.

And then Villa says, “Fuck, _Silva,_ he just—”

Leo pulls back, remembers that there’s someone else in the room with him and flushes bright red. He looks at Silva, and his lips are pink, plumped; he looks at Villa and he’s staring at Leo with wide eyes and an open mouth.

For a second Leo thinks about how they laid on the couch together, about how they didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. He thinks about how Silva is different with Villa, is completely different from how he acts around other people, around Leo. Now, Leo thinks it’s so obvious that they’re not friends, not the way he and Kun are.

“You just—” Leo says.

“Yeah,” Silva says. He swallows after he says it, and Leo sees his Adam’s apple move, up and down. Leo notices that he notices that and freaks out. He pulls his hair back from around his face with two hands.

“But you two—”

“Yes,” Villa says. His pupils are blown and he stares, just stares at Leo.

“And you still want to—?” He waves his hands, hopes they say what he can’t find the words to ask.

“ _Yes,_ ” Silva says, and his voice sounds so wrecked, just completely gone, and Leo thinks, _They want to. They want to._

“I’m too high for this,” he says, because he wants this, too, didn’t realize he wanted it until right now, but there’s so many ways that it could go wrong.

“Are you really?” Silva asks, his voice tight.

“No,” Leo says. He’s not. He thinks about what’s going to happen—about what could happen—and he makes a noise, high and cut off in the back of his throat. Then they’re both moving, Silva and Villa, both on their feet and heading towards him. Leo’s heart rate is through the roof.

Silva kisses him again, just like before, only this time he slides a hand in Leo’s hair. Leo kisses back because he wants to—he wants to—although he jumps when Villa slides a hand underneath his t-shirt and swipes a thumb back and forth over Leo’s hip.

Silva pulls back and wraps his fingers around Leo’s wrist as he turns to Villa and says, “Didn’t I tell you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Villa says, although he doesn’t stop looking at Leo when he does.

Leo’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. He looks as Silva’s lips and then at Villa’s, and Leo wants to kiss Villa, too, wants to know if he kisses any differently than Silva does.

“You can kiss him if you want to,” Silva says, and Leo thinks, _I want to. I want to._ And so he does. He leans forward and kisses Villa, and Villa kisses so differently from Silva, more tongue, more teeth, more more more. Leo kisses back, just as rough, and bites down on Villa’s lower lip; Villa moans.

“He already knows what you like,” Silva says to Villa, and he sounds all sorts of awed and proud and turned on. Leo likes that, but they talk about him like he’s not there, and that doesn’t sit so well with him.

He turns his head away from Villa and says, “I _am_ here, you know.”

Silva laughs like that was the best thing for Leo to say, and Villa looks at him, says, “We know.” He pushes Leo forward, backs him up until Silva’s fingers are pulled away from his wrist, until his back hits the wall. “Trust me,” he says. “We _know._ ”

And then he sinks to his knees and Leo thinks, _This is David Villa, the guy with leopard-print shoes who likes to get into fights and who you just smoked up with, right there in the basement, right there where your best friend is, right now, sleeping._

Then Villa’s hands move to Leo’s belt buckle and Leo stops thinking. He watches as Villa undoes his belt buckle and then the button of his pants, and then he looks up to Silva, who’s just standing there, frozen, watching.

Then Silva licks his lips and Leo says, “Oh, _fuck._ ” His voice cracks.

Villa tugs Leo’s pants down, runs his open palms up the back of Leo’s thighs, and then presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Leo’s hip.

“Alright?” he asks. He looks up at Leo and Leo looks down at him, and he doesn’t know what to say because of course it’s alright, it’s more than alright. And he’s not sure, but maybe he says that out loud, because then Villa’s smiling and his eyes crinkle again. Leo reaches his hand down to Villa’s face, runs his thumb over the wrinkles at the corner of Villa’s eyes. Villa keeps smiling as Leo stretches his skin out until it’s smooth; when he pulls his thumb away, the wrinkles snap back into place. Villa keeps smiling.

“You done now?” he asks, and there’s laughter in his voice.

“Yes,” Leo says. Villa’s mouth is right there and his breath is warm and Leo is so, incredibly hard. “Please.”

Villa doesn’t move, though, not until Silva says, “He said please, Guaje.”

And Leo’s never heard that before, never heard Silva use that nickname, but then Villa’s hands are leaving the backs of Leo’s thighs and he’s wrapping his fingers around Leo’s cock, and then he leans forward, just kisses the tip, and Leo’s knees shake.

“Don’t play with him,” Silva says, and when he does, Villa takes as much of Leo into his mouth as he can, using his hand to cover what he can’t. He leaves his jaw slack for a second and there’s spit everywhere—it’s messy, just everywhere—but it’s so hot Leo can’t—can’t even—

Silva walks towards him again, crosses the room, and Leo’s not sure who he should be looking at. He wishes he could be looking at both of them at the same time. Silva keeps walking, walks right up to Leo and only stops when his knees hit the back of Villa’s shoulders. He threads his fingers through Villa’s hair.

“Leo,” he says, and that’s it, just Leo’s name. He slips both hands up Leo’s t-shirt, places his palms flat on Leo’s sides, and then he slides his hands up Leo’s body, only stopping when the hem of Leo’s shirt is up by his armpits.

Silva kisses Leo’s chest, bites and licks his way across the expanse of Leo’s skin, and Leo is just shaking, is out of control of his own body, feels good all over. His hips stutter without his permission and Villa uses one of his hands to hold him against the wall.

Leo looks down, sees Villa on his knees, sandwiched between Silva’s body and Leo’s own, and Leo can’t—he doesn’t—

“I—fuck, I can’t—”

Silva takes this as some sort of cue, says, “Up,” and then guides Leo’s arms above his head, takes Leo’s shirt off. “You should see yourself,” he says, and then he leans in and kisses Leo again, and Leo loves the way he kisses, absolutely loves it. Silva uses a lot of tongue, a lot of lips, and it’s soft but not tentative, not in the slightest. He runs his hands down Leo’s chest, runs his thumbs back and forth over Leo’s nipples, and Leo is so close, is going to come any minute.

And he does. He comes hard and without any notice, his fists twisted loosely in Silva’s shirt. Villa doesn’t seem to mind, just swallows down as much of Leo’s come as he can, and then he pulls away, gives Leo enough room to sink to the floor.

Leo can’t speak, can’t even think; his legs are like jelly and he can only watch as Silva lends Villa a hand, pulls him up. They kiss each other and Leo’s just sitting there, just watches as Silva licks at the corner of Villa’s mouth, where some of Leo’s come leads a trail to Villa’s chin.

Leo lets his head fall back and rest against the wall as he watches. He likes how he feels, watching them; it’s less like he’s intruding than he would have expected and more like they’re putting on a show for him. They undress each other quickly, already know the ins and outs of each other’s bodies, and when Villa kisses Silva’s neck, Silva turns his head and watches Leo the entire time.

“I didn’t get it at first,” Silva says, and his voice is breathless. Villa’s jerking them both off, one hand moving up and down the length of their cocks. “After detention, he wouldn’t stop talking about you; I didn’t get it.”

Villa pulls back from Silva’s neck with a wet sound, and there’s a thin line of spit leading from his lips to Silva’s skin when he does; it breaks when he laughs and turns to Leo to talk.

“I told him,” Villa says. He sounds just like Silva did, just like Leo feels. “I told him all about you. Fuck, Leo, I told him all about you.”

Leo just listens as they talk to him, just listens as Villa and Silva say the dirtiest things to him, just listens as Silva wraps his fingers around Villa’s cock and says that they wished he would be like this, but didn’t know for sure.

Leo thinks—Leo thinks he should say something back and so he says, “I wish—I wish I could draw you like this,” and it’s the first thing that comes to his mind. And he does, he really, really does, really wishes that he had a pencil and paper because they look so beautiful together, skin on skin, their mouths on each other, and Leo doesn’t want to ever forget it.

“I want to watch you like this forever,” Leo says, and then Silva bites his lips, muffles a groan as he comes hard into Villa’s hand. He wraps an arm around Villa’s shoulders, leans a little bit more of his weight onto Villa’s body, and he keeps jacking Villa off, his strokes coming a little bit faster, a little bit shorter.

Villa comes with a strangled, “Silva—fuck, fuck, _Silva,_ ” and it’s the hottest thing Leo has ever seen. They collapse to the floor afterwards, both too tired to keep on their feet, and Silva smiles at Leo, wide and unrestrained, one hand on Villa’s bare ankle.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Leo says, and he’s still dazed from what he had just seen.

Silva laughs and Villa does, too, and then Villa says, “Shut the fuck up.”

Leo just smiles, shrugs, tucks his hair behind his ears.

 

When they’re finally dressed and back in the next room, Kun’s still sleeping, drooling against the seat of Leo’s vacant chair. Villa pokes him in the stomach with a toe to wake him up.

“Fuck do you want?” Kun asks, his voice thick with sleep.

“Hey, fuck you,” Villa says. “Don’t be a bitch.”

Silva cuts in then, says, “It’s really late; did you want to sleep here?”

“My parents think I’m crashing at Leo’s,” he says after a beat, and he blinks his eyes slowly as if to wake himself up.

“That’s okay,” Leo says to Silva. “I’ll take him back to my place, it’s cool.”

“Alright,” Silva says. Villa flops down on the couch but Silva leads them upstairs, tells them to be quiet so they don’t wake his parents.

Kun heads out the door first, and before Leo can follow him, Silva wraps his fingers around Leo’s wrist again to stops him.

“Hey,” he says. “See you in class on Monday?”

“Yeah,” Leo says. “Definitely.”

Silva squeezes his wrist once and then lets go, and Leo walks down the front steps to where Kun is, on the sidewalk. He turns back to wave at Silva, and then Silva goes inside, back down to the basement, back down to Villa.

Leo turns to Kun, asks, “You sleep enough?”

Kun just shoves him and says, “I told you—Silva’s always got the best stuff.”

“Yeah,” Leo says. “Wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Me either,” Kun says. “You want to play some Super Smash Bros. when we get back to your place?”

“On the Wii or the N64?” he asks.

“Wii.”

“Not really,” Leo says.

“I meant N64.”

“Yeah, okay,” Leo says. “Just try not to cry, alright?”

“That was _you,_ ” Kun cries.

“And now it’s going to be _you,_ ” Leo says.

Kun must not have anything smart to say to that because he ends up just saying, “Shut up,” and shoving Leo again.

Leo laughs, smiles, thinks of Silva’s skin and Villa’s lips and the way they both sound when they come.


End file.
